She watches the shift in his posture, listening to what he says. And it would be funny, if it wasn't sort of sad. This exact response is how she knows he's him. Confident in his skills but still somehow doubtful of himself. It's the root of that self-effacing charm that gets her every time.

Her hand drops, moving slowly until it settles lightly on the forearm that's draped along the back of the couch. She lets the quiet sit for a moment as she studies his face. There's a little smile lingering on her lips.

Look, she's never been one for speeches. But she knows what she feels when she looks at him. She could find him with her eyes closed. She could pick him out of a crowd with a mask on. She'd know him trapped in someone else's body or impersonated by a Skrull.

"I know." The response is full of easy, quiet confidence.